


to keep & be kept

by camellialice



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Emotional Repression, M/M, Post-Canon, boris does his damnedest to put a ring on it, theo runs from his feelings, what's the opposite of pining? that's boris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camellialice/pseuds/camellialice
Summary: After reuniting, after Amsterdam, after everything, Boris wants to settle down and build a life with the man he loves. He doesn't tell Theo about this plan, exactly, but Boris figures he'll probably catch up eventually. Right?Or: how to convince your best friend to marry you (without having to tell him you love him)
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 39
Kudos: 521





	to keep & be kept

**Author's Note:**

> title from into the breach by ocean vuong
> 
> i've been fussing over this forever but at last it came time to kick it out of the nest, so please enjoy

Theo Decker is the love of Boris’ life.

Boris knows this. He’s known this for some time. And maybe he didn’t know when he should have, but he knows now and in time, he hopes, that will make up for it.

It’s not a secret. Sure, Boris has not yet informed the relevant parties (Theo), but, in his defense, Theo hasn’t asked. If he did ask, Boris wouldn’t deny it. He also kind of assumes that maybe, probably on a very deeply repressed subconscious level, Theo already knows. There's a lot of things repressed down there.

After Amsterdam there was Antwerp, and after Antwerp… nothing, for a bit. Theo went back to New York and Boris wondered if that was it, if by giving up the painting he’d severed the last tie between them. He allows himself two weeks to stew in the horror of this possibility before forcing himself into action. So before asking permission, before thinking it through, he buys plane tickets to meet Theo in Paris.

It’s an act of love. It’s a gesture of something. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but he’ll figure it out soon. He always does.

“Potter!” Boris crows, the moment the hotel door opens. “Let me in. I have good news.”

“Every time you say that, my life gets exponentially worse,” Theo says, but steps aside anyway so Boris can enter.

“Well,” Boris says, too excited for more of a prelude. “You remember I said I will take care of you?”

Theo frowns. He might not remember, actually. He may have been drunk, or distracted, or half asleep when Boris had whispered it to him. But out of all the many times Boris had said it, there seemed a chance he’d heard at least once.

Boris doesn’t have time for Theo’s faulty memory to catch up. “No matter,” he says. “I said it, this is all. But Potter! I have found way to do this.”

“Why exactly do I need to be taken care of?” Theo asks, always several steps behind.

“We will get married,” Boris announces.

Theo stares at him for a long time. Then he laughs. “What the fuck, Boris?”

“Is good idea,” Boris explains, settling into a seat. There’s a bowl of figs on the table and he bites into one. “Blegh! You eat this? Disgusting!”

Theo sighs. “Those were very expensive figs, Boris. I had them shipped from Turkey.”

“They’re shit. Taste like the devil’s vagina.”

“Why are we getting married?” Theo asks.

“To protect you. Also, I will share with you what I have. You will have all the shit figs your heart wishes.”

“I don’t need protection,” Theo says stiffly. Always so stubborn.

“Maybe,” Boris says. He nibbles the edge of the fig again, experimentally. It’s still disgusting. “But also maybe you killed a man not so long ago, yes?”

Theo turns white, then red. Boris, very selfishly, likes making him change colors.

“You said it was taken care of,” Theo whispers. He’s looking around, as if nervous someone will overhear.

“I said no more evidence,” Boris corrects. “This is last step! We marry, all taken care of. Solved.”

“I don’t follow,” Theo says. “Boris, this doesn’t make any sense.”

Boris sighs. This is taking more convincing than he expected. “You trust me, yes?”

Theo’s pacing, running his hand through his hair. It had been perfectly gelled, and now he’s ruined it. “It doesn’t matter if I trust you. I want to know what the fuck is going on. I’m not just going to marry you because you said so.”

Boris takes a swig from the coffee cup on the table, trying to rinse the fig taste out of his mouth. The latte inside has gone cold. “We marry, no one asks me to testify on you. My people know you are my husband, they leave you alone. Besides, you have alibi now.”

“Alibi?”

“You are very suspicious, Mr. Potter, they say. You leave beautiful party, beautiful girl, to fly to Europe all of a moment? You sneak off and spend time in secret with this Boris fellow? What are you doing?”

“Being harassed, mostly,” Theo deadpans.

“But then,” Boris continues dramatically, like a magician amping up to his grand finale. “We marry, they realize what is going on! Not suspicious after all! No crime, no murder – no, you are in love! Why do we meet in secret? We are Romeo and Juliet. The Romeo is me, of course.”

“Boris,” Theo says very slowly, “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Boris shrugs. “Is there more coffee? Something hot, maybe?”

Theo paces another lap and then falls back onto the couch. “We’re not getting married. We can’t get married. Boris, you’re already married.”

“What?” Boris asks, and then remembers. “Oh, that. Is no problem.”

“Yes, it is! You can’t be married to two people at once. Are you going to go divorce her?”

“She will not care, Potter. I told you, no problem. Which number to call for more coffee?”

Theo’s watching him. His expression changes three times. Then he sighs and drops his head into his hands. “You’re not married. You lied about that, too.”

“No!” Boris cries. He crosses the room and kneels in front of Theo. “Never would I lie to you.”

“Boris, you lie _all the time_.”

“A little fib, maybe! But not much. Listen,” he says, and lifts Theo’s face out of his hands. “Did I marry her? Yes. Am I married to her now? No. Is she still my wife? Who’s to say?”

“And? What about the kids?” Theo asks.

“I send for them money,” Boris says, “and toys, sometimes.”

Theo stares at him. “I have Kitsey,” he says, finally.

“Pfft! Ice Queen?” Boris asks. “That is nothing. You will not marry her.”

“I said I would.”

“You do not love her. She does not love you. It is her loss,” he adds, a reassurance, to cheer him up. It is true. All it took was one glance for Boris to know she does not love Theo the way he ought to be loved.

They go out drinking that night. Theo hasn’t said yes, exactly, but Boris is celebrating the engagement anyway.

“Did you really come all the way to Paris to ask me to marry you?” Theo asks, between rounds of shots.

“Does this flatter you, to think that?” Boris shoots back with an easy grin. “No. I have business here.” It’s a lie, a simple one, one that Theo won’t bother to question.

He wonders if Theo still blacks out regularly or if it’s just a feature of his presence. He practically hauls Theo back up to his hotel room and has to fish around in his pockets for the room key. He pours Theo into the couch and goes to fetch him a glass of water.

“Boris,” Theo mumbles.

“Shhh. Drink up, idiot.”

Theo obeys, but then keeps talking, voice muffled around the rim of the glass. “Your wife. Did you love her?”

“Yes,” Boris tells him. “Very much. Like my own soul.”

Theo nods morosely. He is a sad drunk; the past decades have not changed this.

“I want…” Theo begins, and then stops. “I don’t know what I want.”

“To throw up, maybe,” Boris supplies. “You look like shit.”

Theo laughs weakly. “You do take care of me,” he says, very quiet. Then he passes out before Boris can respond.

Boris finishes his glass of water and takes the bed for himself.

  
  


He had loved Astrid. He had also loved Kotku. Boris has no problem falling in love. He is very good at it; so good, in fact, that he has fallen in love with complete strangers just watching them wait for a bus. To Boris love comes easy, quickly.

It also goes.

Boris is not good at staying in love. A red-hot love can be too passionate and eventually explode. The quieter loves just fizzle out. Sometimes Boris forgets or just gets bored of someone. More than once he has realized that he was not in love at all, and usually too late.

It is fine. Nothing is fixed in Boris’ life. It is a shifting landscape, passing from place to place, and other people simply drift in and out of it. He is used to this. It does not hurt.

Well, it did hurt, once. This was the one love that Boris never quite fell out of and, he knows, probably the reason his other loves didn’t last. It is a simple calculation: when your soul is hundreds of miles away, how can you give it to anyone else?

He is back in Antwerp a week later when he gets a call. He doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who it is. He’d given Theo his number before he left Paris.

“I thought I had your number,” Theo had said.

“Different number,” Boris had explained. “For my private phone. Very few people have number — this makes you VIP.” He did not mention that no one else, in fact, had this number.

So he answers immediately and is greeted with the full fury of Theo Decker.

“What the fuck, Boris.”

“Hello, Potter, how was your day?”

“Boris. I know what you did.”

“Okay, okay, yes! I admit it. I sold the couch. Was going to wait until you came home to break news. But new couch is much better though, I promise this! Much less green.”

“I don’t care about the fucking couch, Boris!” Theo is very angry. It is not a huge surprise to Boris; Theo had more than once remarked on how beautiful he found the old couch. “I just got a call from Pippa.”

“Yes?”

“She wanted to congratulate me on our engagement.”

“Ah! Such a sweet girl. So much love in her heart!”

He can hear Theo’s teeth grinding through the phone. “You told her we were engaged?”

“Maybe,” Boris says, and hears a sharp inhalation on the other end of the line. “What? She did not know! Was worried you would never tell.”

“That’s because it’s not fucking true!”

Boris sighs. “Potter, there is no good to fighting over phone. Come home and we will talk.”

“That’s not my home,” Theo insists. “My home is in New York.”

Theo’s home is not in New York. Theo will always have a place to stay in New York, but they both know that the antiques shop is not forever for him.

“You come Friday though, yes?”

A pause. He can’t deny it, the tickets are booked. “Yes.”

“Excellent! I have surprise for you.”

“Boris —”

“You will love this. I promise,” he says, and hangs up.

The problem is, Theo thinks he is caught between two worlds. On the one hand, his golden world: it is the world of his mother, of his painting, of New York and Pippa and Kitsey and diamonds. It is shiny and beautiful. And then there is the other world, a garbage world, the world of his father and Las Vegas and blackouts. It is the world in which the debris of the museum explosion has settled. It is despair and dust and blood.

Boris knows that his role in Theo’s life belongs to that second world.

But all of this is nonsense. Theo thinks these worlds are separate, that they do not touch, but they are woven into each other, inextricable. In New York he still has the opiates, the lying, the grime of the world; he just pretends not to see it. And even in Vegas, Boris thinks, there were moments of beauty.

Theo thinks that he has to choose between these worlds and that the choice is obvious. Theo is an idiot. He always wants the world to be black and white, good and bad. But it is never this easy, and one day this will finally break through to Theo, and Boris will be here waiting.

Because this is the real secret, the one even Theo doesn’t know, what sets him apart from anyone else Boris has ever loved: in all of his life, across years and continents, there has only ever been one person who truly loved him back. And one day, Boris knows, Theo himself will realize this.

Theo grudgingly approves of the new couch.

“I told you,” Boris tells him with a grin. “You must trust me! I know what I do with things.”

“What you’re doing,” Theo corrects. “Is this the surprise?”

“No! Real surprise is much better. Wait here.” Boris runs up the stairs to the upper level of the loft, and carries back down a bundle of black fur. 

“What is this?” Theo asks.

“He is Affinpinscher, the lady tells me,” Boris says, setting him down on the ground. “What does that mean? Who knows. They had no white dog like Popchyk. But look at his little face! It makes me laugh.”

Theo crouches to the ground, and the dog wanders over to him, sniffs his hand. “So you have a dog now?”

“We have dog,” Boris says. “Popchyk II.”

Theo pauses scratching behind the dog’s ear. “Boris…” he begins, in a warning tone.

“I know, I know, you do not live here, yes,” Boris says for him. Theo can be so tedious sometimes. “Come. Let us unpack you.”

He has also bought a new dresser, an antique wooden one. It’s in his bedroom on the upper level, but it’s still empty, reserved for Theo’s visit. He doesn’t draw attention to it, but he does see Theo run his fingers over the side engraving in appreciation.

They stay in that night. Theo says he’s too tired from the flight and Boris is glad to hear it. They sit on the new couch with a bottle of wine and watch an old movie. Popchyk II crawls into Theo’s lap.

“I think Popchyk II might be a girl,” Theo whispers. “What does that make her? Popchyka?”

Boris feels briefly guilty for not having bothered to check. “You like her, yes?”

“She’s your dog,” Theo says, eyes on the screen. But she falls asleep in Theo’s lap, and he continues to stroke her back absently until the end of the movie, and Boris knows he is already in love.

They spend Saturday downtown at an art auction. Boris has left the walls of the apartment bare for a reason and he’s not going to fill them without Theo’s help. He says it’s because of Theo’s superior eye for art, but it’s really just for Theo entirely. He wants, in his heart of hearts, for Theo to walk in the door, see the art on the walls, and know that he is home.

“Do you have general ideas of what you want?” Theo asks. He seems to think he is just here as Boris’ advisor, not the primary customer.

Boris waves his hand. “Anything I choose, you mock. Just pick, I trust you.”

They do a very slow lap around the gallery. There are two paintings Theo really likes: a pastoral landscape and a still life. Boris prefers the landscape.

“Look at those cows!” he gushes. “Such soft little nose. Have you ever pet a cow, Potter?”

“It’s not about the cows, Boris.”

“One day I will take you to petting zoo, you will touch a cow and be reborn. They are so big, Potter! But so gentle!”

Theo crinkles his nose in disgust. “We’re not going to a fucking petting zoo, Boris.”

Instead he decides that Boris should buy the still life. “It’s poetic,” he explains. “It’s — no, Boris, I know it doesn’t have any cows — it’s about the symbolism. _Memento mori_. It all looks nice, the flowers, the fruit, but the reason they’re so ripe is they’re about to rot. It’s about beauty and decay. The most beautiful things always go bad first.”

Boris watches Theo’s enraptured face as he gazes at the painting. Theo who has seen so much, survived so much, and still came out beautiful. Did Boris ever have a chance at beauty before he went bad?

“Cows don’t go bad,” Boris points out, and Theo rolls his eyes.

But Boris tells Theo to bid on both paintings anyway. They make a good pair: Theo, fixed on his goal, raising the bid at carefully calculated intervals, firm and confident in his stance; and then there’s Boris, fiercely glaring down the competition until they cower in their seats.

Boris is bouncing with glee when they go up to the receptionist to fill out the sale paperwork. She smiles back at him and offers a friendly, “Congratulations, you two.”

“We’re not—” Theo starts, but Boris intervenes, slinging an arm around his waist.

“We are very excited,” he tells her. “They will look so beautiful in our home, yes, darling?”

Theo glares and Boris cackles through the whole ride back to the apartment.

Sunday night Theo rifles through Boris’ liquor cabinet. He makes little whistling noises of appreciation and looks back at Boris every once in a while with skepticism.

“What?” Boris asks. He’s sitting at the kitchen island, perched on a barstool he probably wouldn’t even be using if Theo weren’t here. “You make faces.”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. You don’t strike me as much of a mixologist.”

“Why not? I mix.” He doesn’t. He got the cocktail supplies because they seemed like things he should have, but he’s never used any of them. He’s not really a cocktail person, more of a whatever-liquor-is-closest person. The equipment looks nice, though.

“You have an atomizer, Boris. Have you ever used an atomizer?”

“Every day!”

“What do you use it for?”

“I make atoms.”

“Ha ha,” Theo deadpans. “Okay. I’m making us cocktails. Get the dog off the counter.”

“She likes it here,” Boris protests, but draws her into his lap in response to Theo’s glare.

Theo picks out two cut-crystal glasses, very nice ones, expensive ones. Boris got them in Japan. He starts pouring, and it’s nice to watch — the crease in his forehead, the focus in his expression. Theo makes cocktails like he does everything else: deliberately and with all of himself.

He pushes a glass over to Boris. “A Boulevardier,” he announces. The word means nothing to Boris.

“What, no drink for Popchyka?” Boris jokes.

“I’ll make hers next.”

They sip their drinks. Then, out of the blue, Theo says, “I don’t think I’m in love with Pippa.”

“Okay,” Boris says. He knows this, but he’s still surprised to hear Theo say it. “Why not? She is beautiful, yes? Like a little bird.”

Theo shakes his head. “That’s not… It’s more than that. She was right, anyway. She said we’d never work. We’d make each other so unhappy.”

“Sometimes this is what love is.”

“But I think it wasn’t even her. She was like an icon, this untouchable fragile beauty, and I think I thought that if I could have her, I’d have it. I don’t know what  _ it _ is. But I thought she was the door to it.” Boris knows what  _ it _ is: Theo’s golden world, but a real, pure version, untouched, untainted.

“This is not a bad thing,” Boris tells him. “All the time we fall in love with ideas and call them people. It is human of you. Besides, worse reasons to love somebody.”

Theo sighs. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this. You’re not a good paradigm for romantic success.”

“Hey! Rude! As happens, I am engaged to a  _ very  _ handsome man. Antiques dealer, makes very much money.”

Theo kicks him. “Fuck you.”

Boris cradles Popchyka so she doesn’t fall out of his lap. “What, you are better?” he retorts. “Always you were in love with this girl who now you say you do not love, and you still insist you will marry the other one?”

“This whole marriage business,” Theo starts, taking another sip of his drink. “You are joking, right?”

“A joke? How? What is funny in it?”

“You’re really serious about this shit?” Theo asks.

“I have a ring,” Boris tells him. He actually does, he picked it out Tuesday. He thinks it’s very tasteful, the sort of thing Theo will like.

Theo shakes his head, laughs into his glass. “You’re insane.”

“Am just wanting Popchyka to grow up in stable family.” He scratches behind her ears and she makes little snuffling noises.

“Why did you kiss me?” Theo asks suddenly. “In Las Vegas.”

Boris pauses. Popchyka wriggles in protest. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah,” Theo says, but doesn’t look at him.

“I wanted you to stay.”

“Because of the painting? Because you stole it?”

“No,” Boris answers truthfully. “I did not want you to leave.”

“You could have come with me.”

Boris doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have a good answer for that; that same thought has been running through his own head for years and years. Instead he plays with Popchyka’s paws, rubbing his fingers over the little nubs of her toes.

“Boris,” Theo says, a summons. Boris looks up. Theo looks angry — no, determined.

He slides off his stool, standing right in front of Boris. He takes Boris’ face in his hands and kisses him. It’s a hard kiss, a firm press of his lips against Boris’ mouth, his fingers digging into Boris’ cheeks. It feels less like a kiss and more like a message. 

Then, before Boris can respond, say anything, kiss him back, Theo pulls away, drains his glass, and goes upstairs to bed.

Boris knew that Theo loved him even before he realized the same, back when he knew that Theo was the other half of himself but didn’t understand why. 

When he first noticed it, he desperately wished it would go away before he inevitably broke Theo’s heart. He knew he was good at breaking things. And then it stuck around and he got used to it, enough to miss it when he was gone. But it still worried him. He’d watch Theo sleep, twitching at nightmares, and on those nights he just seemed like a boy who had lost so much, who had suffered and been hurt so much. And he would think, with horror and dread and disgust and self-loathing, _one day I will hurt you too_.

Theo’s love was like a campfire, tender, flickering, something to bask in and something to fear. It was easier to pretend he didn’t see it because he wasn’t ready to face it, wasn’t ready to trust himself with such a precious, fragile thing.

He remembers standing on the porch and begging Theo not to leave. He remembers the chill of the air, the sharp sting of coke in his nose. He remembers Theo looking up at him, desperate, with his whole heart on the line, his love open and burning on his face.

In his dreams afterwards, he says to Theo, “Why do you love me? I only hurt you. I steal from you. You should not trust me, Potter, you dumbass. I do not deserve this love.”

In his dreams, he says, “I am not ready yet for this, to go with you. I do not trust myself to be what you deserve. If we had more time, maybe –– why must you go now?”

In his dreams, he says, “Stay with me and I will learn to love you how you deserve. I will learn to love you without hurting you. Just stay, Theo, don’t leave me.”

In his memory he says none of this. He doesn’t know how. He kisses the boy he loves and it isn’t enough and Theo leaves him, after all.

The next morning Theo is gone. He left for his flight without saying goodbye, without even leaving a note. Boris knows when he wakes up that the apartment is empty, but he still goes upstairs to check. The bedroom is spotless, no trace of Theo remaining. Theo can leave a place looking like he was never even there. It does not fool Boris, who always feels Theo’s ghost in his absence. It is a familiar feeling, but it aches every time.

He goes back down, into the kitchen. The only mementos of Theo, the only proof of his visit, are the two crystal glasses on the counter and the one remaining fig in the fridge. There is no way Boris will ever eat it, so he drops it in the trash can.

Popchyka has been lying sadly in front of her food bowl, but stands to greet him, padding over to his feet, her tail wagging gently behind her.

“Just you and I now,” he says softly. He sits on the kitchen floor for a long while and pets her.

He does not call Theo or say anything about the kiss. What is there to say? He knows Theo will deny it or avoid the question. Instead he takes a picture of Popchyka and texts it to him.

For seven days in a row, Boris texts Theo a picture of Popchyka. Sometimes he adds a caption, sometimes he doesn’t. When the paintings are delivered, he takes pictures of Popchyka with both of them. Theo never responds.

Except. Except one week after he left Antwerp, one week after the kiss, Theo texts back almost immediately:  _ Broke up with Kitsey. _

Boris isn’t sure how to respond. He knows he should not say  _ told you so _ or openly celebrate. So he sends three more dog pictures instead.

And then, miracle upon miracle, a second text from Theo:  _ Do you want to come to New York? _

Boris is in New York as soon as KLM Royal Dutch Airlines will allow. He doesn’t even go to his New York apartment to drop off his bags; instead asks Gyuri for a ride to the furniture store straight from the airport.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he shows up, but he certainly doesn’t expect for Theo to greet him at the door with, “Let’s get married. You were right.”

“Often,” Boris agrees. “But can I come inside first?”

Theo lets him in. “You brought Popchyka,” he notes, and lifts her out of Boris’ arms to scratch her head.

“She missed you terribly,” Boris informs him. “Every morning I wake up and she asks me, ‘Where is Potter? When does he come home?’”

“She doesn’t call me Potter,” Theo says absently.

“What then are we to call you? Daddy?”

Theo looks up sharply at that. “No,” he says, cheeks coloring.

“You are right,” Boris says. “I am Daddy. Can I put down bags somewhere?”

“Um, sure,” Theo mumbles. “Are you planning to stay here?”

They hadn’t actually discussed this. Boris tries to shrug nonchalantly. “Whatever is best. Is there food?”

They leave the bags in the hall and go to the kitchen. Theo returns Popchyka to Boris’ arms and starts making a sandwich for Boris. Boris sits at the table and watches.

“Your sudden heart change,” Boris says. “I am glad to hear it, so I hate to ask, but is there reason?”

Theo shrugs, doesn’t look up from his task. “I thought about what you said. It sounded reasonable. And Kitsey… well, that wouldn’t have worked out anyway. You know what the funny thing is though?”

“What?”

“She found out. I guess Pippa told people? But Kitsey asked about my ‘engagement’ to you, and she was so mad about it, and at the time it was just funny, so I told her the rumors were true.”

“Well! Now you are glad I called Pippa after all, yes?”

Theo rolls his eyes and sets the plate on the table. “Don’t push it.”

“So do you want ring, or no?”

“Do you really have it?” Theo asks.

Boris sets Popchyka on the ground and goes back to his bags. The box is in the outside pocket of his suitcase (it had seemed wise to be prepared). When he turns around, Theo is seated at the table.

“So this is the proposal then, yes? Do you want me on my knees for you?” Boris offers. 

“Just give me the ring, Boris.”

Boris obeys and Theo opens the box. He pulls out the ring and looks at it for a long time and there’s something in his eyes Boris can’t place. It’s a simple band. Classy, like Theo likes. But also expensive, like Theo deserves. Theo hesitates, and then slips it onto his finger.

“Boris,” Theo asks. “Do I want to know how you know my exact ring size?”

“Nope!” Boris says cheerfully, and bites into his sandwich.

Boris has business in New York (or, rather, he always has the opportunity to arrange for business when he wants to be in New York), so he spends the next day out and leaves Popchyka with Theo. He gets a text around 3 PM:  _ Hobie says you should come over for dinner. 6:30. _

_ok_ , Boris texts back, and then, because he has priorities, _how is popchyka????_

Theo sends him a picture of her curled up on his lap and Boris’ heart almost leaps out of his chest.

Dinner is awkward. Usually Boris gets on well with older men, but Theo’s Hobie is quiet, reserved, and Theo keeps making faces whenever Boris asks a question that’s too personal. So Boris fills the silence with aimless chatter and keeps himself entertained by kicking Theo every once in a while.

Eventually the old man puts down his fork and asks, “So. You two are getting married?”

Theo nods towards his plate. “Looks like it,” he says, and takes a hasty sip of wine.

“When?”

Theo looks to Boris, who shrugs. “Who knows? Soon, we think. As soon as Potter here can pick out a dress.”

Theo scowls at the joke and stabs at his plate. Boris sigh, Hobie doesn’t press the issue, and dinner finishes with an awkward silence.

They take Popchyka out for a walk after dinner.

Theo’s still being quiet, so Boris nudges him. “What is in your mind, Potter?”

“Nothing,” Theo murmurs. Boris nudges him again, insistently. Theo nearly trips. “Christ, Boris, stop it.”

“What? Are you mad at me? Tell me.”

“I’m not mad,” Theo says, but then falls silent.

They walk another block. Popchyka tries to sniff every tree along the block.

“Boris,” Theo asks eventually, “Do you love me?”

It catches Boris off-guard. “Do I love you? Why do you ask this?”

Theo shrugs. He looks uncomfortable. “Do you love me?” he asks again.

Boris can’t read his tone. So often he can glance at Theo’s face and read his whole heart, but now, when it matters most, he can’t discern anything. “Of course I love you,” he says slowly. “You are my best friend, since forever.”

Theo scoffs. “So you asked me to marry you as a friend?” Sarcastic. Scornful.

“I asked you to marry to protect you,” Boris reminds him. It seems best to hedge his bets until he knows for sure why Theo is acting so nervous.

“You asked me to decorate your apartment,” Theo says. “You bought a ring. You adopted a dog. It’s like you think we’re already married.”

“If you are not happy with arrangement, Potter, you can say this, I do not want you uncomfortable.”

“Why do you even want to marry me?” Theo asks. His questions have got more urgent, his voice louder. “You’re not even gay, you told me so.”

Boris decides not to try to explain bisexuality to a man who can’t even comprehend his own homosexuality. “Potter,” he asks gently, “why are you so upset?”

“I just want to know!” Theo says. “In there, at dinner, why did you keep making jokes about it?”

“Why not make jokes? Always you are too serious, Potter, such a grumpy old man these days —”

Theo fully stops and turns towards Boris, “You don’t  _ actually _ love me, do you?”

Boris could tell him. Boris could say that he loves him, that he’s loved him forever, that he thought Theo knew, that he’s been trying to show this with every word, every gesture, every breath since they found each other again. But Boris knows enough about Theo to know that if Theo isn’t ready to hear it, he’ll flee like a frightened animal. Possibly out of Boris’ life forever.

“I want to take care of you,” Boris says, gently, slowly. “So many times I have failed you in this. I want you safe. And I do not want to lose you again.”

“But you’re not in love with me, right?”

Boris doesn’t know what to say. It feels like a trap. He opens his mouth and lets it close again.

Theo watches his face and then nods, like Boris has given him an answer. He looks down at Popchyka, peeing on a bush. Without looking at Boris, he says, “You said if I’m uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this?”

Boris did just say that. He regrets it. “Yes,” he cedes, “but Potter, please, think about this, it does not have to mean anything you do not wish, is not like real marriage —”

“Okay,” Theo says, and hands Boris the leash. “I’m out.”

“Theo, wait, please, think —”

“I’m done.” Theo pulls the ring off his finger and gives it to him. “We’re not doing this.”

He turns around. Boris grabs his sleeve.

“Please,” he begs, desperate, “you do not have to run off, we can finish walk together! C’mon, Potter, it is dark out, you should not go alone —”

Theo shakes him off. “I’ll be fine,” he says, and goes.

Boris thinks Theo is an idiot. But he also knows Theo well enough to know that once Theo has decided to be an idiot, he’ll commit to the role fully.

He knows he could have just explained everything:  _ I love you, you love me, our hearts and lives are intertwined, I want to keep you around so I can watch over you, so I can take care of you, so I can keep you safe.  _ But that would have been the end of everything, so instead he tried to speak Theo’s language. And no, Boris does not enjoy all this caginess and side-talking while he waits for Theo to figure things out. He is a person who likes to say what he thinks. He lives wide open, heart on his sleeve, no holds barred. Sure, he has secrets, but rarely about things that matter, and the biggest secrets he’s kept have hurt him the most. Theo, however, is locked up and buried in the deepest part of himself; he lives underground and shares his feelings with no one, not even himself. It does not sound healthy, but Boris thought that maybe in this instance, when it came to Theo’s heart, he should follow Theo’s lead. It turns out that Theo’s lead is bullshit.

Have they had fights before? Yes, so many times. But most of them fizzled out or were forgotten; they’d shout at each other a bit and share a bed that night anyway. But that was also back when they were always together, when their hearts beat in time with each other, when their souls were bound up in knots.

So maybe Boris is the idiot, for thinking they could go back to how things used to be. He really does believe it though, because maybe they’re out of sync now but there have been moments when they fell back in step with each other, easily, seamlessly. Whispering in New York, laughing at bars, pressing their foreheads together in Amsterdam with their hearts in their throats, on his couch in Antwerp, Theo’s mouth on his ––

It is hard to explain why Boris has such faith in the two of them together. It is impossible to explain to anyone except Theo, who isn’t ready to hear it.

Boris wants to say that Theo is a fool, that Theo will come around, that it will all work out in the end. And maybe he should give Theo more time, but he does not sleep at all that night and knows he will not sleep again until he talks to Theo, so when dawn breaks he goes to the furniture store.

The old man meets him at the door. A slight frown dimples his forehead at the sight of Boris. “Hello again. You’re here for Theo, aren’t you?”

Boris nods. “Is he home?”

“He’s upstairs,” Hobie says, and opens the door wider to allow Boris in.

Boris thanks him and starts up the steps.

“He might not want to talk to you,” Hobie calls after him, but Boris ignores this.

He knocks on the door that he thinks is Theo’s. After a minute Theo opens the door, sees him, says, “No,” and shuts it.

Boris knocks again. “I need to talk to you,” he says through the wood. “Is urgent. Is about Popchyka.”

The door swings open. “Is everything okay?” Theo asks.

Boris holds the dog up. She licks Theo’s face. “She misses you,” he explains, and pushes his way into the room before Theo can protest further.

Theo sighs and shuts the door behind him. “Why are you here, Boris?”

“I want to talk to you!” Boris says again. “About everything.”

Theo sinks into his desk chair. “I’m not doing it, Boris. I’m not letting you bulldoze me into this.”

“I don’t bulldoze,” Boris protests. Popchyka squirms in his arms and he lets her jump down onto the bedroom floor.

“Yes, you do,” Theo says. “Always. In Las Vegas, in Amsterdam, every time we’re together —”

“This is not bulldozing! I make plans for us.”

“And they always go terribly!”

“Not true!”

“Oh really? Because, as far as I remember, the last plan you made, you got _shot_.”

Boris hesitates. “But we did get painting, though.”

Theo groans. “I’m tired, Boris. I’m tired of all of it.”

“So what?” Boris asks. “You are tired of me?”

Theo puts his head in his hands, staring down at the ground. “I don’t know.”

Boris feels the floor crumbling under him. It doesn’t feel real. He might actually lose Theo this time, for real, forever, all because of a stupid fight over a stupid ring. And it’s happening here in Theo’s old bedroom with Popchyka in the corner chewing on one of Theo’s socks.

He kneels on the ground in front of Theo. “Listen to me,” he pleads. “Things happen for reasons, yes? And everything – Vegas, Amsterdam, the painting, all of it – brings you and me back together. Like rubber band, you stretch and stretch but always it comes back. Okay? And I do not want to stretch it again. You stretch too much, one day it snaps. Listen. I said I would take care of you, I promised you this, and I will do this for you. Only stay with me and Popchyka, Theo. Don’t leave, not this time.”

Theo looks up at him, eyes wide and raw. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Boris takes his hands. “Just stay,” he begs. How many times must he ask this of Theo?

Theo bites his lip. “Why did you ask me to marry you?” he asks quietly.

“I told you this already, Potter, I told you a million times —”

“Do you love me?” Theo asks. “Are you in love with me?”

Boris drops Theo’s hands to run his own through his hair. “Why do you ask this? What do you want me to say?”

Theo runs his hands over his face. He holds his temples and whispers to the ground, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Fucking  _ finally.  _ The penny drops, the dam breaks.

In an instant Boris is kissing him. He kisses him like he’d kissed him in Las Vegas, and like he’d imagined a million times since then, and like how he’d wanted to kiss him in Antwerp, if Theo hadn’t left. He kisses him like he’s begging him to stay. He kisses him like it’s a proposal.

And Theo kisses back, needy and desperate, clinging to Boris’ face with his fingers. But then he pulls back and looks Boris dead in the eye and says, “We’re not doing this again. I just told you I  _ love _ you, Boris.”

“I know this,” Boris says, squeezing his hand. “And I love you too ––”

“Excuse me? You know?”

“Yes,” Boris says, rolling his eyes, “since always, I thought you just were not ready to know?”

“Fuck you, Boris,” Theo says. “You don’t know how I’m feeling better than I do.”

“Okay,” Boris says. “Sorry. Tell me.”

Theo glares at him, pauses as if considering it, and then glares again. “Shut up.”

Boris grins. “And I love you! Always, and I have been trying to show this for months, for years ––”

Theo kisses him again. And pulls back again. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Boris rolls his eyes. “Have you tried telling yourself things? Things like this?”

“So instead you asked me to marry you?”

“Is still good idea,” Boris points out. “I did mean it.”

“It was a terrible idea, Boris.”

“Now will you marry me?”

“No,” Theo laughs, a small huff. “Ask me again at a reasonable time.”

“Okay, when is reasonable?” 

“Not the exact fucking second we get together, Boris. I’m going to need time to adjust.”

Boris shrugs. “For me, this changes nothing. For me, everything stays same as always. Except I can keep kissing you, yes?”

“Yeah,” Theo allows, and Boris does it, two more times. Then Theo says, “I’m not going to marry you. But I’ll move to Antwerp with you. If you want.”

“Already it is your home,” Boris tells him. “Been waiting for you to realize this.”

Theo flicks his shoulder. “You don’t have to be such a know-it-all,” he complains.

Boris kisses him again. “You will come home with Popchyka and me?”

“I guess so,” Theo sighs. He slumps his forehead against Boris’ and whispers again, “I love you.” He says it with a little bit of fear and a little bit of wonder. He says it like it’s magic, like the words carry a tremendous power he doesn’t fully understand, like they could trigger something incredibly destructive or incredibly beautiful. The answer is probably both.

Boris wakes up half on top of Theo, with Popchyka curled on his chest. Theo shifts and makes sleepy protestations as he gently disentangles himself from the sandwich to reach into the nightstand. He fishes around in the drawer until his fingers find the box, in the same place it’s been sitting for the past year. When he turns back, Theo is rubbing his eyes open.

“Morning,” Theo yawns.

“Potter,” Boris says seriously, and holds out the open box. “Will you marry me?”

“What, today?” Theo asks.

Boris shrugs. “Why not?”

“You’re flying to London tomorrow.”

“So? We go, we marry, we come home and I go to London! Wham, bam, married.”

“So no honeymoon?” Theo asks.

“Who needs honeymoon? So old-fashioned.”

“I do,” Theo says flatly. “I’ve told you this before and I’m telling you again, I’m not marrying you without a fucking honeymoon.”

Boris groans. “So demanding, Potter. Who knew  _ you _ would be needy fiancé?”

“Not your fiancé,” Theo reminds him.

“Future fiancé,” Boris corrects himself. “What does it take for you to marry me?”

“More than this shit,” Theo says, shifting onto his side. He displaces Popchyka and she jumps to the floor with a whine. “Your proposals get lazier each time, Boris.”

Boris pouts and lies facing him. “Come on, Potter, marry me,” he asks again. “Do it for Popchyka.”

Theo laughs. “Not today,” he says fondly, eyes soft. “Ask me when you get back from London.”

There are small things, huge things, for Boris to look forward to: after London he gets to come back home to this apartment which houses his life and his dog and his heart. And Theo will be here waiting for him, Theo will stay with him, and maybe one day Theo will actually say yes and Boris will marry him. And Boris will take care of him, watch over him, love him with his whole soul. In the meantime, Boris leans over and kisses him.

And Theodore Decker, the love of Boris’s life, says, “Go walk the fucking dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> (popchyk is alive and well!!! but he's a little too old for international travel so he's living with hobie. please do not worry about him he's very happy)


End file.
